


The Wind is Never Weary

by deinvati



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and more fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash, one scene two pov's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 11:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: “Do you think that used to be a person?”Amos and Prax deal with the aftermath of the Hybrid attack in different ways.  But they need each other to make sense of it all.





	The Wind is Never Weary

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop wondering what happened after Prax patched Amos up, after the Hybrid attack aboard the _Roci._
> 
> Surely there was more, right? They couldn't just leave it like that, could they???
> 
> (A quick voice study as I dabble in a new-to-me fandom...I may add more later because I love these idiots a whole, whole lot. Enjoy!)
> 
> Title from [The Rainy Day](http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=147) by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

_Prax_

Prax dug his fingers into the potting soil he'd stolen from the kitchen, making a well in the damp dirt big enough to re-pot the tiny air cleaner plant. He'd stolen that too, just one more thing he owed these people, he guessed. Just one more way to show he had nothing.

He pushed that thought aside and focused on the familiar feel of grit under his nails, the sweet scent of hydrated soil ready to facilitate life. When the dirt was ready, he carefully, gently, with a practiced turn of his wrist, extracted the tiny greenery from its pod and transferred it to the makeshift pot he'd set up on his desk. The desk in his quarters. Well, in the quarters he was staying in on the _Roci_.

He felt the presence behind him rather than hearing it. The other man took up too much space to be invisible. Prax told himself that he must have subconsciously wanted the company if he hadn't shut his door. He pressed the dirt lovingly around the roots as Amos watched him.

"I read an article once," he started and Amos jerked a little although Prax kept his voice low, "that said the further away from Earth an Earther gets, the easier it is for them to live. Do you find that to be true?"

Amos didn't say anything at first and Prax concentrated on his task, prepared to push thoughts of the other man away just as far and just as fast as he as burying everything else.

"I don't know," Amos said, his voice sounding dusty from disuse. "Yes. No. Why do you ask?"

Prax shrugged. "Don't meet a lot of Earthers. Not way out here. Figured you've been around enough to judge."

Amos stilled again and Prax let it drop. Then he surprised him by speaking. "I suppose you'd know just as good as I would. Don't imagine distance makes a lot of difference when you're carrying it all around inside your head, Doc."

Prax's fingers stilled, and he shut his eyes against the rush of emotion that slammed into him. Not just sadness or worry for Mei. But anger and fear and helplessness and a stranglehold of other feelings he'd been holding back for days.

There was movement behind him and he didn't realize he'd started sinking to the floor until he heard, "Easy, now," in his ear and a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I've gotcha." They sank down together, Prax's leg bent uncomfortably under him, and he couldn't care less. The middlespace in front of him wavered behind unshed tears for his daughter.

"That wasn't her, Doc," came the voice in his ear again. "Not possible. It was too big, too far gone. Stuff we saw on Eros didn't work that fast."

Prax nodded, his lips pressed together against the compassion he thought might break him in half. He didn't dare speak.

"It's just death," Amos continued. "Even if that used to be a person, what we did wasn't a killing. It was a mercy. Understand? It wasn't a person anymore but if there was someone still in there, we gave it a natural end."

Prax nodded again, but slower this time.

"And Mei?" Amos said, her name a new wound in Prax's heart, "wherever she is, if she's dead, that's natural too. But we're gonna find out. Okay? That way you can get that stuff out of your head and put some distance between you and it."

Oddly enough, his words rang true and clear, and Prax felt the dam of resistance he'd built up crumble. Hot tears slid down his cheeks unbidden and Amos held him up as he sagged. He sobbed, loud, ugly things ripped out of him, and he wept for the things he'd lost. For Mei, for his home, for himself. Amos said nothing, but his arms stayed true and Prax let himself lean against the wall of muscle until he had no more tears and his breath evened out from ragged gusts to drained panting.

Amos didn't make shushing noises or meaningless calming phrases, just sat with him, keeping him from sinking to the cold floor. Prax appreciated it more than he could say. When he'd worn himself out and wiped his face with a shaking hand, he took a deep breath, and then another.

"Better?" Amos asked him and Prax turned to look in those clear blue eyes. He nodded and Amos nodded back. "Good. Did you want to fuck?"

Prax froze, then turned to look at him straight on, sure he'd misheard.

"What?"

Amos shrugged one shoulder and dropped his arms. "Some people, when they get out of a situation like that…" He shrugged the other shoulder too.

He didn't appear embarrassed, just an offer, like it was a stick of gum.

"Not… not right now. But thank you?"

Amos nodded again and hauled himself to his feet, then reached out a hand to help Prax up.

They were the same height, but Amos was broader, denser. Even his gaze weighed more. His solidity was comforting, and Prax couldn't stop the mental image of Amos stripped to the waist as he bandaged his wound.

"You change your mind, you know where my bunk is."

Then Amos turned on his heel and left, the door sliding closed behind him.

* * *

_Amos_

"Do you think that used to be a person?"

Prax's voice was tight as he admitted, "Yeah. I do." Then he set down his tools and left the med bay.

Amos' eyebrows drew together at the tools still spread over the counter. The tools had always been in the room, but somehow, as soon as the Doc touched them, in Amos' mind they had become his. And he hadn't put them away.

Amos winced as he stuffed himself back into his jumpsuit, knowing he needed to change out of the bloody mess and grab a spare out of his bunk, but not before he secured the potential projectiles. He reorganized his mental to-do list as he wiped down the tools and strapped them into their proper place. There. Much better.

He mentally checked off the task so he could move on to the next, except his feet weren't carrying him to his bunk. He paused. Sometimes his body knew things he hadn't processed yet, and he'd learned to listen. It was how he jumped out of the way of bullets. Well. Usually.

He needed to check on the Doc. He frowned because he hadn't assumed that would be a priority, but something about the way the Doc had responded to Amos asking about, "a person," and the way he hadn't secured his tools, made Amos think he had something on his mind.

He was planting something. Amos could see him through the open door. It seemed an odd thing to do, way out here, but he supposed the Doc wouldn't see it that way. And anyway, he looked sort of natural there with his hands in the dirt.

He seemed more at peace, so Amos was thinking maybe he didn't need to check on him after all, when Prax started talking to him.

The Doc never asked him questions that sounded like they might be about more than just what was being said. But Amos always thought about his questions carefully, and the Doc always waited for him to answer. It was nice. It made it seem like what Amos had to say was important and worth listening to, even if he was just a mechanic.

So when Amos answered, he always tried to say the nice things that were in his head. Or if he what he had to say wasn't nice, he tried to say it plain, like a shot, painful all at once, and then numb. It seemed like the Doc might think that was nice too.

But this time… this time when Amos answered his question, neither nice nor plain, just honest, the Doc collapsed, and Amos' body knew to step forward and catch him, even if his brain was trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

"Easy now, I've gotcha."

Amos lowered them to the floor because he didn't think he was strong enough to hold the Doc up for more than eleven minutes, maybe thirteen with an adrenaline rush, but no more than fifteen, and he wasn't sure how long this would take.

He looked to check, and there were unshed tears in the Doc's eyes. That's when Amos knew—this was about Mei. His daughter. His family. Amos wondered what it would be like to have someone love him like that. To love someone else like that.

Amos tried to think what he'd want someone to say if it were him. Or what the Doc would say to him if their positions were switched. But that possibility made no sense and didn't help the Doc.

So he went with plain, _and_ nice, _and_ honest. Doc probably knew that proto-molecule hybrid thing wasn't his daughter, but he was scared all the same. So Amos told him. It wasn't her. And death wasn't anything to be scared of.

Amos thought he'd messed up when Doc started to cry, but he leaned against Amos and Amos held him while he let it all out.

When he offered the fuck, he was expecting the surprise in the Doc's eyes, but what he wasn't expecting was the want in his own gut. He just watched the Doc, no judgment or pressure, but a part of him wanted Prax to say yes. Hell, it'd be good to get it out in the open if that was all it was. But the disappointment that twanged when the Doc said no said it might be more.

Feelings complicated everything. Part of Amos wished he'd gotten them removed when he had the chance. The other part couldn't help but leave an offer open, even though he knew he'd be listening for footsteps outside his bunk for a good long while now.


End file.
